“Yeah, I can— I can crochet!” I offered, happy to have thought of something. Then I winced. “But crocheting a gift for you probably circles back to bribery, doesn’t it?”
Hughes only stared blankly back at me, and my confidence faltered.
“There’s gotta be something that’ll make you look the other way while I slip inside,” I tried again. “Anything. Name it.”
His gaze moved over my head. “I don’t make deals, so unless you can provide the resident’s name for me to verify yourappointment, you’re out of luck. I suggest you leave before I involve security.”
Security was the exact opposite of what I needed right now.
But I pressed my lips together, fighting down the temptation to blab my client’s name. “I can’t tell you who they are. It’s private information.”
There were certain rules in the professional cuddling industry, like never telling someone why you were visiting a client. My boss made every cuddler sign a bazillion forms and NDAs before we were even hired. I couldn’t exactly tell Hughesy-boy here that a resident was paying me to come snuggle for a few hours.
But I’d never had a client who lived in such a secure building before.
“I’ll be straight with you, Hughes. I don’t get paid if I don’t show up to the booking.” Growing restless, I glanced at the cute blue kitty-cat face on my watch and frowned. Cuddlers were trained to arrive for sessions fifteen minutes early, which was five minutes ago. If I didn’t make it upstairs before our appointed time, then I could kiss my paycheck goodbye. “And I can’t afford to miss one right now. My cat, Whiskey, just had another ungodly expensive surgery for his tumor, and I’m already majorly behind on credit card payments because of his vet bills. I’m also drowning in student loans for a degree I’m not even using?—”
“Miss.” Pity flashed in his eyes, making my neck itch. “I sympathize with your situation. I truly do. But you’re not getting past me unless your client confirms you’re allowed to be here. It’s building policy.”
Well, then.
While I stewed, a woman in a gorgeous cream dress chose that moment to leave the building. Hughes spotted her with theeyes in the back of his head and swung the door open just as she reached it.
“Ms. DuPont.” He nodded as she passed, and I saw my opening.
I shifted onto the balls of my feet, ready to pounce.
“Hughes,” the lady murmured with a pat to her perfectly coiffed French twist.
While her glossy cream red-bottoms clicked against the pavement, I darted around her other side and sprinted through the door?—
Only for Hughes to snatch the collar of my sundress and yank me back outside.
His quick footwork had thwarted me once again.
“Nice try,” he muttered.
The weight of paternal disappointment in his gaze actually stung a bit.
But our dance was far from over, and I refused to leave empty-handed after I’d taken three connecting buses just to get here.
I couldn’t afford to lose this booking.
My cat was counting on me.
top floor
. . .
Cade Westbrook
My building’s private entrance was closed for maintenance.
It shouldn’t have been a problem. But after spending months in the UK to pull off a deal Westbrook Capital’s board had told me was impossible, staying up all night to comb through the final details,andweather delaying my flight back to the US—I wasn’t in the mood to show my face in public. Sneaking in through the back held much more appeal.
Instead, my driver had to circle the block and fight for a drop-off spot at the front curb of the Nightingale. I used the time to scroll through work emails on my phone, catching up on any fires from the day and fighting back a yawn.
When we got a spot at the curb, I pocketed my phone. “Appreciate it, Grady. Take the rest of the day off. I won’t be going anywhere.”
